Oneshot Collection
by commander-cullywully
Summary: Series of oneshots featuring Cullen/Trevelyan- specifically my female Inquisitor, Gwyn.
1. It Crept Up on Him

Cullen circled the training yard, watching carefully as Gwyn wielded a sword in her hands uncomfortably. Her stance was awkward- her feet not far enough apart, her shoulders too tense. He stood across from her, shaking his head at her form.

"You've got loosen up or you're just asking for someone to pummel you," he sighed, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. Gwyn's face fell in mock surprise.  
"How positively rude, Commander. I'm absolutely shocked you would say such a thing in the presence of the almighty Herald!" Gwyn's laughter was short-lived as Cullen executed an unexpected push with his shield. The force knocked Gwyn on her back, causing him to smirk.

"Well, the almighty Herald will only continue to embarrass herself with a sword in hand until she takes me seriously," Cullen instructed, a small smile playing on his lips.  
"Fair enough," Gwyn grinned, wiping the snow from her breeches. "Help me up." He held a hand out only to whisk it away with a grin. Gwyn rolled her eyes,  
"Oh, piss off, Cullen. Just help me," she groaned.  
"You're perfectly capable…" Before he could finish his sentence she was already bringing herself to her feet, still gripping her sword tightly. She readied her stance, a newfound confidence in the way she was carrying herself.  
"'Allow Commander Cullen to assist you in practicing your swordplay,' Cass told me. 'He's tough, but really is a gentlemen,' she told me." Gwyn rolled her eyes as she braced herself to strike. Cullen evaded the move only for him to raise an eyebrow.  
"A gentlemen?"  
"Yeah, still waiting on more proof," Gwyn sighed, wiping sweat from her brow. Her long brown hair was coming loose from its usual ponytail, Cullen noticed. Whisps framed her face in a way that Cullen thought suited her. He hadn't considered that he might have been cold towards her. He paused, standing up straight as he loosened his grip on his sword.  
"I…forgive me," he frowned, avoiding the way her eyes darted with curiosity. "I hope I have not made you uncomfortable."

She was smiling now, the small gap in between her front teeth exposed.  
"It's not every day a mage becomes the Herald of Andraste. I know I haven't been the easiest person to get along with." She leaned against the edge of the fence, resting her sword next to her. "What I mean to say is, there's a lot of personality in the Inquisition. I don't expect everyone to get along famously," she laughed. It was a musical sound that Cullen did not expect. He certainly didn't expect the feeling in his stomach that it has stirred to life. She was stunning in a way that crept up on him. The way she sat on the snow, one leg under the other. He loved how the blue of her eyes matched the sky, how she did not avoid his gaze like other women had in the past. The way she stood at the war table, her arms crossed as a hand rubbed her temple until she asked in mild frustration, "Where is that again?"

Despite the times he had butted heads with her, he liked how she had considered his advice. She didn't dismiss his opinion simply because he had been a Templar. She wrote silly notes attached to her reports, explaining "_THEY HAD COOKED HAM FOR US, CULLEN. HAM. I can't remember the last time I had a decent cut of ham. Hopefully you can't either &amp; I've made you envious._" Originally, he'd complained to Cassandra about how the notes were childish and unprofessional. But when Gwyn had stopped, he felt a pang of disappointment.

He liked how she said his name, the way the corners of her lips tugged upwards as they formed the words. His favorite had become what he was currently witnessing: her whole body rocking with laughter as she recalled her first lesson in sword-play with Cassandra and how it had failed miserably.

"You have to admit I'm getting better with a sword, though," she grinned, wrapping her coat around her. He stared, lost in his train of thought. Her hands were small, her fingers surprisingly dainty. He wondered if they were soft to the touch, or if she had overworked them like he had his.  
"I get it. I probably shouldn't wield a sword in battle any time soon," she winked. "Don't worry. I'll stick to what I know best." In an instant, she blew onto her hands and they seemed to redden slightly. Her smile fell when she saw him flinch in response to her casual use of magic.  
"Sorry, I forget that you-that others aren't used…" she frowned and stood, placing the sword back on a weapon stand. Eventually she turned to face him, her hands fidgeting as she offered a small smile, "Cul- Commander, would you care to join me and the rest of the squad for dinner?"

_Yes_. The word was dancing behind his lips, waiting to be spoken. Yet, he was tugged another direction.  
"No, I'm afraid I've got some training to oversee. Another time, perhaps?" She gave a small nod, one that made his gut twist in slight guilt. There was a trace of a smile as she took a step backwards. She understood- the Breach, the Inquisition. There wasn't time.  
"Thank you…for the lesson." She bit her lip, giving a wave in his direction before turning away to head into Haven's gates. His hand twitched around the hilt of his sword as he watched her hug herself in order to generate a modicum of warmth.

"You are, Herald," he almost shouted, wanting to see more of her. She looked over her shoulder, a confused expression growing on her face. "Getting better with a sword, I mean. You're getting better."

A smile grew on her face, the gap exposed to him once more as her ears slightly reddened at his compliment.  
"Thank you," she touched her hair, maneuvering it to cover the tips of her ears. He gave her a warm smile, his heart almost flipping at how she was staring at him. Him. He hadn't wanted a woman's attention in so long, it almost seemed childish.  
"Maybe a few more lessons and I'll be pummeling Cassandra into the ground," she laughed. That sound, that glorious sound was quickly becoming a favorite of his. She stared at him, the quiet settling between them until she began to walk backwards.

"I'll bring you some food later since you're missing dinner, how does that sound?"  
"Oh, that's not necessary-"  
"I heard we have an excess of ram, if you're not impartial," she smiled.  
"I really have far too much-"  
"I won't take no for an answer." He smiled back at her, trying to commit to memory the way she was looking at him.  
"Ram is fine," he breathed, causing the freckles on her face to wrinkle slightly as she grinned in response.  
"I'll be back," she called, moving past the gates with another wave.

A part of him was rolling his eyes, chastising himself for being foolish in entertaining the thought of her in this way. There were far too many things to worry about. A silly infatuation was the last thing the Inquisition needed. And, yet…he couldn't help but imagine a world where he could feel the texture of her hands, to imagine how her lips might feel against his, how her hair might feel tangled in the grasps of his fingers. He pushed the smile that seemed plastered on his face away, shoved the feelings down where they belonged. Yet, an hour later when she returned with a small plate of food and a wide grin on her face, he couldn't help but feel like that world that swam around in the back of his mind could be so easily accessible if given the chance.

* * *

**A/N: **Hi guys! I know I haven't posting much on here and I sincerely apologize. I've been really preoccupied with my college courses, but have been writing short oneshots and prompt on tumblr. I'm currently working on a wedding fic for Cullen x Gwyn and it's been going a lot slower than I'd hoped, but it's happening. I promise! I love hearing back from you guys, so please feel free to leave comments. Thanks for the wonderful comments and the message's I've gotten about my writing as well as concerns about this dryspell I've been kind of forced into. 3 -A.


	2. His Name

**For this ficlet, I was asked in a prompt on tumblr to write the scene where Cullen finds Gwyn after the events of "In your Heart Shall Burn."**

* * *

**"His Name" **

As Cullen walked through the snow searching for tracks, for any sign of life on the horizon, he couldn't help but think about the way she'd turned her head away in the Chantry.

"But what of your escape?" The words were dripping with concern as Gwyn promptly avoided his gaze. She turned her back to him, the brief silence that filled the space between them felt like hours rather than seconds. That was it, he realized. She was preparing for the inevitable. His hands twitched as he resisted the urge to reach out, to draw her closer, to reassure her somehow.

"Perhaps you will surprise it somehow, find a way…" The words seemed ridiculous to him as they poured from his mouth, thick with uncertainty. Before he left her, all he could think to tell her was, "if we are to have a chance- if _you_ are to have a chance- make that thing hear you." The words seemed ridiculous in his head now as his eyes scanned the mountains. Yet there was this undying hope that this woman- this foolish, brave woman- would be the one to find a way.

Gwyn. The day she told him her name left a small smile on his lips just thinking about it. Strawberries in hand, juice on her face as she snuck from the kitchens. The lie she'd started with, how she had sucked in a breath when he reached to wipe the juice off her face, and the way she'd said her name to him. She was something else that Cullen couldn't quite place. Funny, stubborn…but, above all, kind.

Despite their disagreements they'd had in previous conversations, she always came to him. She'd sit on a nearby tree stump, watching attentively as he barked orders at men. He noticed the way she'd smile in his direction, the way she'd wait until he allowed the men a brief break before approaching him to simply talk. He never asked too much about her, he realized. He recalled their discussions of the Circle and how she had stiffened when he mentioned family, how she had fumbled with her hands until she excused herself.

Now, in the vast white, all he wanted to do was ask her questions. Did she have brothers? A sister, maybe? It seemed a cruel joke that the Maker would send her to them, only to pull her away at a moments notice. If she lived…if- when they found her, he wanted to know her better. He wanted to be kinder to her, the way she had not judged him for any of his distance. The darkness was settling in already. Leliana frowned as Cassandra pushed forward.

"Perhaps we should return to camp, we cannot afford to lose anyone else," she offered. Cassandra spun on her heels, disgust lining her face.

"No, Gwy-" Cullen almost winced at the sound of Cassandra saying her name. It seemed too fresh a wound already. "She wouldn't abandon one of us-dead or alive," Cassandra finished, gripping her torch tightly.

"All I'm saying is that if-" Leliana caught the stern look from both Cullen and Cassandra, "IF she's out there, she could be buried under snow. There's no way…." Leliana trailed off as Cassandra walked away, trudging through the untouched snow.

"She might have followed us," Cullen noted, referring to the small fires that had been lit when they'd rested. The wind howled around them and Cullen squinted as Cassandra groaned in exasperation.

"I can barely see anything in this," she scoffed. Cullen moved ahead of her. There was a clearing ahead; they'd stopped near there briefly. If Gwyn had any tracking experience, she would be there. He trudged in that direction as Cassandra rubbed her shoulders to generate some warmth. As he took each step, he found himself silently praying, begging even. Maker willing, if they found her, all Cullen wanted to do was talk to her. Learn more about her. Hear that laugh that seemed to echo in every part of Haven. He wanted to be honest with her, wanted her to understand him more. If the Maker could just…he looked up to see a shadow in the blowing snow- it was standing weakly at the top of the clearing. He squinted, unsure if it was just his imagination, and watched as the figure dropped to their knees.

"There! It's her!" He broke out into a run, forgetting the amount of snow beneath him.  
"Thank the Maker," Cassandra shouted, following after. As Cullen dropped to Gwyn's side, he realized just how dire her situation was. Forgetting formality, forgetting the Inquisition, he touched her face. It was only for a moment but there was no warmth in her cheeks like the day he'd fondly remembered. No color. Her breathing was ragged, it was possible she was having difficulty.

"She's freezing. We need to get her back to Mother Giselle and the healers," Cassandra murmured. Leliana was already running back to the glow of orange and red lights below as Cullen pulled his cloak off and wrapped it around Gwyn's frame.

"I'll carry her," he whispered, lifting her in his arms. It was strange that she weighed very little to him. The amount of force he'd seen her exert in battle could only be compared to that of a warrior's. As he began to walk, he thought he saw her eyelids flutter. Could she hear them? "You're alright, I've got you. We're going to take you back to camp. We're going to get you help," he kept his voice low, not even sure she could hear it over the wailing of the wind around them. It was when he heard his name leave her lips that he almost had to stop in his tracks. It was quiet, small. Beautiful, even. Looking down at Gwyn, it hardly seemed like she'd said anything at all. Maybe she hadn't.

As they approached the camp and he moved to set her on a cot, he'd brushed it off- leaving it all up to his imagination. He rubbed his neck absentmindedly as Mother Giselle and other healers examined her body. After quickly applying the necessary poultices, they covered her with thick blankets and monitored her closely.

"Large bruises on her back and wrist…surprisingly no broken bones that we can tell of. Small cuts here and there that can be easily mended….it's the cold we have to worry about. We don't know how long she was out there," she informed Cullen, Josephine, Leliana, and Cassandra.

"Why didn't she warm herself up? She specializes in fire magic, I just-" Cassandra was almost stammering. "Mages need energy to do so. I imagine after everything you described happening, coupled with the extreme cold….she must've been exhausted."

"I shouldn't have left her. She told us to move, to run. I looked back but…I shouldn't have left her," Cassandra shook her head as she hugged her body with her arms. Immediately Mother Giselle placed reassuring hands on her shoulder.

"No one knew what evil was waiting for us, for her. It's a miracle she made it back to us alive at all."

Cullen looked back at Gwyn's body resting nearby. He stood at the foot of the cot as a healer finally approached him.

"Would you like your cloak back, ser?" He motioned to the material still wrapped around Gwyn's body.

"No, that's not necessary," he waved the healer off as his mouth formed a tight line._ Wake up. Please._ He tried to think of those blue eyes dancing as she walked with him to the war room, the way she said his name like it was a song. He thought of her musical laughter, the way she'd ask to sit next to him during dinner even if he hadn't touched his plate.

"You gonna eat that roll?" She'd ask, grinning.  
"Maybe," Cullen retorted, glancing at his paperwork.  
"Is that a maybe I can have it?" Cullen rolled his eyes as he set his work down.  
"What if I wanted it?"  
"Well, you haven't touched it," she chided. These conversations usually ended with him eating bits off his plate, which he later realized was just a trick she'd use to get him to eat something.

These thoughts were interrupted when he heard her speak.  
"Cullen." It was still quiet and her voice was rough, but there was no mistaking it now as healers moved to her side glancing over at him suspiciously. He would be lying if he said it wasn't the most wonderful thing to grace his ears. She was moving- just shifting in the cot slightly as her eyes fluttered open.

"Cullen?" She said it again; this time it was a question, like she was looking for him. Slowly he approached and sat down in the empty cot beside her.

"You're alright. A little battered but you're safe," he told her quietly, a smile that she was gaining consciousness spreading over his face. "Just get some rest," he whispered, patting the edge of her cot as she nodded weakly. He moved to stand but Gwyn's hand was now on top of his, her fingers now filled with warmth. The healers around her shifted their glances as Cullen's ears reddened.

"Thank you." It was a whisper, hoarse and weak. The sound alone caused his heart to soar as he moved to his feet and exited the tent.

Outside, Leliana was grinning. "Your face looks a bit red there, Commander," she hinted. Cullen felt heat rise to his cheeks once more, yet at the same time he felt like he had just won a tournament of sorts. He replayed the moment in his head as he approached his tent and pulled out a map to study. As his fingers traced the material of the map, he couldn't help but feel the corners of his lip turn upward at the ghost of Gwyn's touch on the top of his hand. She'd said his name. _His._


	3. Something to Prove

Author's Note: This is a oneshot that obviously takes place during Haven right after Therinfal Redoubt. It's pre-relationship, but- as you can see- it's getting there! Let me know what you guys think! -Allison

* * *

"Are you doing alright out here?" Cullen could vaguely hear Gwyn over the howling of the winds. As much as he tried, he still hadn't quite grown used to the blizzard-like conditions that surrounded Haven. He had slowly become accustomed to the regular snowfall, but still forced himself to come up with new strategies for training exercises when the men seemed at their worst and unprepared for harsh weather like this. He watched as the Herald approached slowly, her hands holding two cups pulled close to her chest. He continued to work on the trebuchets, his gloved hands already losing some feeling.

"I'm fine," Cullen responded curtly, his gaze returning back to his work.

"It's bloody freezing out here," she sighed, sucking in a deep breath of air. "Why don't you come inside for a bit?" He paused, considering the option for a moment before continuing his work. She held out a cup towards him, a small smile making the scar on her jaw twitch. He stared. Perhaps too awkwardly as Gwyn forced back some laughter with another sigh, "Are you just going to let me hang onto it or…"

"Right!" He stammered, reaching for the steaming cup. He blew on the top, peering over the rim as Gwyn took short sips of her own cup.

"It's just hot cocoa. If you'd prefer tea-"

"Hot cocoa is fine." The words came out quickly. Maybe too quickly, judging the way Gwyn was smiling at him. The silence between them grew and Cullen expected her to take her leave. She'd done her good deed of the day already. She needn't torture herself further by remaining. Instead, she sat on a nearby crate, pulling her scarf tighter as another gust of wind pushed past. She looked down at passing Templars and offered a polite wave as they stared in her direction. She frowned slightly when they did not return the gesture, but pulled her cup to her lips once more. Her eyes studied the hot cocoa, her gloved fingers

"I wondered…why did you choose the Templars?" The question had been digging in the back of his mind since the day she declared it. In past meetings, she had ignored being a part of their bickering. She spent her time staring down at the map, her fingers picking up the small marker on Redcliffe time and time again. That alone made her decision seem obvious, to him anyway. Yet, when there was no more time left to add to the bickering and Leliana had told her a decision needed to be made, she had stared at the marker over Therinfal Redoubt as he argued for the Order. To him, he was fighting a losing battle. He waited for her to announce the march to Redcliffe. Instead, when she did speak, it was with unwavering confidence. _The Order. _He wasn't sure he had heard her at first. In fact, he assumed she was toying with them. She must have seen the look on his face when she spoke again, i_f we present a plan to seal the Breach, the Templars may ally with us. _An alliance. She was taking it a step further. While she found ways to frustrate him to no end, it was clear there was more to her that he wasn't expecting. Even now, she was watching a small group of Templars in the training yard.

"What do you think they think of me?" Her voice was quiet. Cullen pursed his lips. He could think of many things that those men and women might think about her.

"They're grateful for what you did for them," he offered. Gwyn snorted as she took another sip of her cocoa.

"Maybe," she sighed. "But most of them have their minds made up about me. Most of them hate me or fear me." He watched as she pulled her jacket closer.

"That's not true."

"Haven't you?" She eyed him curiously.

"I…" His face burned with heat as he glanced away. He was guilty. When he had met her in person, the first thing he noticed was the staff she wielded. It would be a lie to say otherwise. Later, when she had taken the time to give a formal introduction, she offered him a warm smile and her hand. The one with the Anchor. He had eyed it, but not taken it. Instead, he had introduced himself as the Commander of the Inquisition and moved her attention to the war table. How many times had he scoffed at the informality of her reports and flinched when she neared him? Just a few weeks ago, she had called him out on this. _'Allow Commander Cullen to assist you in practicing your swordplay,' Cass told me. 'He's tough, but really is a gentlemen,' she told me._ He remembered the way she had rolled her eyes and the way he had stammered an apology. More so, he remembered how he felt the need to correct his mistakes. How it bothered him he had mistreated her. He glanced up back up at her to see her grinning.

"It's okay. Like I said before, it's not every day a mage is named the Herald of Andraste. When I agreed to be a part of this, I knew what that would mean. I knew it would mean more judgement. I knew that it meant people wouldn't have to actually know me to think they already have me figured out. That's just how being a mage works. Sure, I could have supported the mages. I could have even disbanded the Templars—I considered it. But why did I choose them?" She was quiet, her lips pursed as she stood up and approached Cullen. "To prove to them, that, as a mage, I could put aside negativity for the greater good. That, I and all those other mages matter. Maybe I should've supported my own people. They need help and I've chosen to be the person to live with that decision. But, through all this, maybe I can show them the good that exists in working with mages like me, Vivienne, and Solas. Perhaps, mages can see the good that exists in the Order willing to work with a mage. I don't know." A small laugh escaped and she shrugged. "Or maybe I'm just a fool."

Cullen shook his head, shivering slightly when another gust of wind blew in their direction.

"I didn't…I never thought of it like that."

"Well, of course not. Many of those in the Order—people everywhere, really- think they have their minds made up about me simply because I carry a staff instead of a sword. It's my job to change that, don't you think?" She smiled as she watched the group of men continue to train in the fading light. Her breath visible as she turned to face him once more. The light from the torch glistened in the blue of her eyes as she grinned at him. He shivered in response, but he wasn't sure whether it was from the cold or the way her gaze lingered on him. Suddenly, she removed her scarf from around her neck and wrapped it around him tentatively. He was left speechless as she carefully hooked the dark purple material carefully.

"Oh, no. I couldn't possibly…" Gwyn held one hand up in response.

"You can have it. Josephine bought me one from Val Royeaux." She patted where the material sat on his chest-plate. "Besides, it looks better on you." She grinned, picking up her empty cup.

"Thank you," Cullen stammered out. He glanced down at the cup of cocoa in his hands.

"I guess I'm not the only one who feels they've something to prove," she murmured. Her boot dug into the snow at her feet until she offered a wistful smile. "Well, I'm going to grab a quick drink. Have a good night, Cullen. Stay warm." She tucked wisps of hair behind her ear before slowly walking away, her footsteps crunching in the snow.

"Goodnight, Herald." He wondered if he said it loud enough. In the gust of snow that blew past him, he clutched her scarf closer to his skin. The material was soft. The only scarves he was used to were the ones from his childhood that scratched against his neck in an infuriating way. The calibrations could wait until morning. He could get started on some paperwork for the night. He pulled the scarf over his mouth as he started to walk towards the Chantry. Instantly, a pleasant scent filled his nostrils. It was sweet—vanilla, perhaps? Gwyn. He thought of her smile. The way the corner of her lips twitched, the way her brow often furrowed, causing the scar that rested there to crinkle slightly.

He liked the way she thought of him even when she didn't have to. She brought dinner to his office some nights. She brought back Orlesian chocolate for each of the advisors after leaving Val Royeaux, but only his package included a small pastry and a note assuring him that the one good thing about Orlais was its food. He had snorted at the message but, later, after trying the delicacy, left a small note in her horse's knapsack thanking her. When she came back from the Storm Coast, she never said a word. He paused, looking down at the now empty cup of cocoa. Perhaps a drink at the tavern before bed wouldn't hurt.


	4. An Argument & a Letter

Cullen usually held training exercises outside in the yard, but the weather had turned unusually cruel overnight. Instead, he practiced in the lower levels of the Chantry, where the Herald had insisted upon opening up for their specific use for the time being.

"That won't be necessary," Cullen had told her, but she shook her head.

"I hate training outside, why should they have to?" She shrugged her shoulders as if her response were the only one that made sense. Gwyn had a flair for getting a rise out of him and it certainly didn't help that he'd been feeling weak all day, or that she was rolling her eyes. To her, it seemed like the more opportunities she offered Cullen, the more he seemed to dig in his heels. "Why do you _insist_ on—"

"They need to be prepared for anything, that conditions won't always be favorable," he argued, slamming his hand down at the table. She stared at his fist, her eyes wide. He hadn't gotten angry like this at her before; she wasn't used to it. Frustrated was one thing. Angry was another thing entirely. She took a step back, which only caused regret to wash over Cullen.

"I apologize if I spoke out of turn," she had whispered, taking another step back. Cullen felt his stomach clench at the look on her face. She almost looked wounded.

"Herald—"

"I meant no offence. Your men and women may train where they wish. I only wished to extend an opportunity for them so the number of ill could be held at bay. My apologies." She hurried out of the door without another word, and left Cullen feeling like a fool. If he was honest with himself. It wasn't her he had gotten angry with. He had been feeling that nagging voice in the back of his mind. The one that lingered there with an enticing beckon that could not be ignored. He had not meant to be so short with her. He certainly hadn't meant to make her face fall in shock and disappointment.

* * *

The next day when she didn't come around the training yard, he began to look for her in the other places she frequented—the war room, the stables, and even the Singing Maiden. Unfortunately he walked out of the tavern feeling dejected. He had only wanted to apologize.

"Curly! Finally decided to hang around with us common-folk, did ya?" Cullen sighed at the sound of Varric's voice. It was always too harsh, too brash, for him. Cullen turned on his heel to face him, his hand absentmindedly scratching at his neck.

"Varric, yes, I—" he paused, trying to choose his next words carefully. "I was wondering if you had seen the Herald today." Varric was quiet, his eyes dropping to the floor.

"A certain Ponytail may or may not have taken a ride into the woods for some alone time. She declined any and all company—can't for the life of me figure out why—but you didn't hear of that from me." Cullen ground his teeth. Gwyn, out on her own. This was something that unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

"Where?" Cullen inquired through gritted teeth.

"There's a spot deep in the woods just beyond the cabin that belonged to the old apothecary. Ponytail mentions it from time to time—I imagine she's gone there," Varric shrugged. Cullen balled his hands into fists. Did anyone think to send scouts? Why not send a few members of the guard at the very least? Holding his tongue, Cullen gave a curt nod.

"Thank you, Varric," he murmured, taking his leave.

Despite the fact part of him was screaming at himself to borrow a horse from the stables, Cullen remained in Haven. He was probably the last person she would have wanted to see. Instead, during dinner hours, when he found she'd not returned yet, he sat inside the quiet of the war room and crafted a short apology letter. It was something simple, something to the point. There were moments where he found he couldn't bring himself to bring his quill to the page. He halted, wanting to explain his actions and unlock that part of him for her. Yet, it seemed like madness to even think of wanting that. So, he stuck with kind words. For the first time, he found himself scrawling out her name, not her title. _Lady Gwyneth Trevelyan. _He stared at his script, her name still foreign to him. The longer he looked, he realized that she preferred Gwyn. Yet, as he buried the folded letter deep in his pockets, he knew it was much too impersonal to present to her.

* * *

Later that night when the wind began to howl, he found himself offering up the lower levels of the Chantry for training. While he had commanded men to bring around training dummies, he had found that the parts of the dungeons had already been outfitted. The Herald—always two steps ahead of him. The thought brought him a moment of satisfaction—she deserved more credit for her actions. He could only hope to aspire to that level of kindness, that level of empathy.

"All of you are dismissed." The words spilled out of him before he could give them a second thought.

"Excuse me, ser?" His lieutenant leaned in nervously. Cullen paused, rubbing the back of his neck.

"All of you are dismissed for the night. Dinner should be ready within the hour and get yourselves some rest—we've a long day tomorrow." Soldiers snapped at attention, each one murmuring a gracious thanks before retiring for dinner. He had half a mind to join them; he hadn't had a proper rest in days. Instead, he stared at the supplies the Herald had stocked. His fingers traced over the stored equipment—bows, long swords, axes, hatchets, daggers, short swords, and shields. Each one shared something in common: a small Inquisition symbol had been engraved into each weapon. Tracing the small grooves of the symbol with his finger, Cullen felt the corners of his lips tug upwards. Clever.

He picked up one of the swords, feeling the full weight of it in his hands. He inspected the blade, carefully sharpened and polished to perfection. Gwyn had outdone herself. He practiced for hours in the lower levels of the Chantry that evening, well after the sun had set and the stars had spread across the night's sky. He settled his robes on a nearby barrel, carefully folding each item then laying pieces of his armor. Abandoning his undershirt, Cullen picked up a sword once more, his fingers firmly gripping the hilt as he closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling as he prepared to take the appropriate stance. Turning quickly, he followed through with the THUD of metal against stuffing. Another hit sliced a training dummy from shoulder to hip. Sweat beading against his forehead, Cullen turned once more to strike the dummy from behind.

"Commander?" The voice was so quiet, he had almost not heard it.

"What?" He barked, making another thrust towards the dummy. Another tearing noise erupted as he made a downward cut. His hands shook in a way that had become familiar to him ever since he had stopped taking lyrium. It was a biting sensation that ebbed and flowed underneath his skin, poking and prodding him more than he could ever care to admit. He flexed the muscles in his hands, pulling the sword from the stuffing of the dummy. Sweat running down his face and his chest heaving in exhaustion, Cullen turned around to face Gwyn. "Herald!"

"Sorry to disturb you, Cull—" Her voice caught on the syllable and she swallowed thickly. "Commander." The word stung him. Gwyn had always been one of the first to use his name with ease, reminding him that he was a person first and foremost. He wiped his face, embarrassed and disappointed.

"Is there something I can do for you, Herald?" He returned the sword to its rightful place, watching Gwyn out of the corner of his eyes. She was quiet still, her eyes studying the floor as she fidgeted with her hands. He noticed that every now and then she glanced in his direction, her eyes gazing at his chest only to shoot back down at the stone floor. "I tried looking for you earlier—before, I mean," Cullen added.

"I'm glad someone's getting use of the supplies down here," Gwyn sighed, changing the subject. Her fingers traced over the mutilated dummy, attempting to look anywhere but at him. "Maker knows Harritt wanted to kill me when I put a request." Cullen wanted to launch himself into the apology she deserved, wanted to tell her he had been a fool.

"Right. I wanted to thank you. The soldiers were grateful to have a night where they didn't have to be subjected to the harsh weather before you march to Temple of Sacred Ashes tomorrow." He was tripping over every word and he knew it. "I owe you—"

"That's not necessary, Commander," she interrupted. The word stung. Whether it was from the lyrium withdrawal or the way she had cut him off so casually, a pained expression spread across his face. He leaned against the stone walls for comfort, hoping she hadn't noticed this lapse of strength. Taking her lower lip beneath her teeth, her face suddenly softened. She studied the floor as her hands fidgeted with one another once more.

"It is," Cullen interjected. He took a step towards her, his hands shaking. He rubbed the back of his neck, "I behaved poorly and you did not deserve—"

"I didn't mean to push you," she interrupted, glancing up at him. "It doesn't happen often, but arrogance makes me behave foolishly."

"Not often?" Cullen raised his brow. He smirked as she approached him, her arms crossed.

"You would know," she grinned, snorting with laughter. He liked the way the scar on her eyebrow wrinkled when she expressed joy and how her laugh seemed to fill the room with reckless abandon.

"I apologize for taking my anger out on you, Gwyn. I won't be making a habit out of it," Cullen finally said, after her laughter had subsided. He couldn't help but notice the way her eyes gazed into his. A sea of blue that he dared to swim in. This was probably the closest she had ever been since she asked to take part in sword training.

The longer she stood silent in front of him, Cullen was testing himself. This is a woman who had taken the time to bring him dinner the nights she was in Haven, a woman who brought him pastries and chocolates from Orlais, while also writing informal reports for his eyes only. He still remembered reading about a farmer in the Hinterlands offering her ham or how hard he had laughed after reading about her encounters with Orlesians—_a woman told me I smelled like mud. __**Mud**__, Cullen. I might have told her to sod off on behalf of the Inquisition. Oops._

She was the woman who had stolen strawberries from the kitchen just because she longed for a taste of home and for the few seconds the pad of his thumb had wiped the straying strawberry juice from her chin, he had wondered what her lips tasted like. Her hands were there, resting at her side. Gwyn was the woman who had brought him hot cocoa and wrapped her scarf around his neck one late night. At the time, she had talked to him about proving her worth to the people around her and it was clear she had made an impression. At least on him, anyway.

"You said my name," she said softly, smiling to herself. It dawned on him—he had. Heat crept to the tips of his ears and made a silent prayer that his embarrassment wasn't as painfully obvious as it felt.

"Right," he laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck once more. "I should…I should retire." He took a step away from her, ready to move.

"Actually, I came down here to ask a favor of you, Cullen."

"Oh?"

"It's been a couple of weeks since we trained last and Cassandra says I'm a mess at blocking and countering with my left hand." She held up her arm and showed several healing cuts.

"Cassandra did that?" Cullen exclaimed. Gwyn snorted.

"Maker, no. I might have…" she glanced at the floor. "I might have tried my hand at wielding a sword last time I was in the Storm Coast."

"You must be joking," Cullen said incredulously.

"I thought our last lesson went well and I might have had a few drinks with Bull and—" Cullen stared at her, shaking his head. "Don't give me that look! I told you—arrogance makes me behave foolishly." Cullen burst into laughter and it wasn't long before Gwyn had followed suit. She was doubling over, holding her stomach in sheer delight.

"Okay," Cullen finally agreed, moving back to the swords. Gwyn froze, suddenly very aware that half of Cullen's clothes lay folded on a nearby chair. He held a short sword out to her, ignoring the prickling under his skin.

"I didn't….I mean, we don't have to do this right this second."

"I don't mind." She eyed the hand he had offered her, the way his hands gripped the hilt loosely. Once, during a meeting in the war room, she had brushed against his hand to reach for a piece. Part of her felt tempted to try again, to feel the callouses he had earned from years of service. Her eyes traveling to the muscles on his chest once more—he had scars along his collarbone and another nestled on his side that made her nerves prickle. She committed each one to memory the longer her eyes lingered on him.

"Gwyn?" He gestured towards the sword in his hand, bringing the attention away from his chest. He had to force himself not to chuckle at the way she blushed. Laughing nervously, she took the sword from his hand only to pause. Something seemed different about Cullen, she just couldn't bring herself to figure out what.

"Actually—have you had dinner yet?" He raised his brow, confused.

"I thought we were-?" He gestured to the swords.

"Right, yes. I just—I haven't eaten all day and since you make it a habit of missing dinner altogether, I figure we could go together?" She spoke quickly, wanting to get the phrase out in one breath. He eyed her curiously, trying to discern if he was hoping far too much. "You don't have to," Gwyn stammered quickly. She didn't want him to feel obligated.

"I want to. I'd like that." Cullen said eagerly. _Too much hope_, he chastised himself. A nervous chuckle left him that made Gwyn's heart flip.

"Good," she grinned.

"I should get dressed," Cullen murmured.

"Right," Gwyn blushed. As Cullen put the swords back where they belonged, Gwyn noticed a folded piece of parchment on the floor near his clothes. She noticed the elegant script that was clearly written with care. "Is that…is that my name?" Cullen froze, turning to face her.

"I—" Gwyn had already picked it up. She ran her hands over his handwriting, where he had written her name. "Yes," he swallowed thickly. The smile that spread across her should have made his heart burst, but he felt dread as she began she tore the seal. His heart pounded as she began to unfold it in front of him. She hesitated, watching his expression through her eyelashes.

"Let's get some food in our stomachs. Maker knows I could use some potatoes," she smiled. "Don't take too long getting your bloody shirt on! You know how Sera goes for thirds." She winked in his direction, but he was too busy watching her fold his letter in her hands. He swallowed thickly as she pocketed the letter—the letter that said too much, the letter that hoped too much.

"Are you coming or not!" Gwyn shouted down the hall, her voice bouncing off the walls.

"I'll be right there!"

Oh Maker, did he have a mess on his hands.


End file.
